


Porchlight

by menel



Series: Blacklisted [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim glimpses something in Raylan that strikes a chord with him, and against his better judgment he asks his co-worker to have a drink with him. If only they had gone to a bar . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porchlight

**Author's Note:**

> Episode tag to 1x11 Veterans.

Tim was feeling disgruntled as he stood above the ditch, watching as Raylan and Art examined the bodies of the two no-longer-missing meth cookers below. When the call had come in outside the VFW, he’d had no choice but to accompany the two other Marshals even though he was in no condition to be of much use at a crime scene. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Art that he’d been on his way to a bender before Art had contacted him. Art’s call had gone directly to his voicemail since he’d already left the office and had planned to meet up with some army buddies. He’d even vacillated when he finally heard Art’s message, but in the end it was a given that he’d help the other two Marshals out. He’d always been a sucker for the call of duty. Annoyed as he was at being interrupted, he felt guilty too that he’d kept Art and Raylan waiting (albeit inadvertently) for well over two hours.

The problem was that he wasn’t drunk yet, just on the threshold, and the detour to the VFW and that conversation with Arlo Givens had dulled the edges of the whiskey he’d been consuming but not enough to sober him up. He was at that irritating stage of borderline sobriety, one that if he didn’t get back to drinking (be it more alcohol or water), he’d wind up with a headache. A hangover _without_ properly getting drunk. Life was a bitch sometimes. 

His eyes flitted over Raylan’s form and he found that his irritation was inexplicably directed more towards Raylan than it was towards Art, who was his boss and was the main reason he’d dragged himself to the VFW in the first place. Art held authority over him, but his boss didn’t have the same magnetic pull that Raylan exerted. Raylan was even more attractive to him than usual tonight. Sure, a lot of it had to do with the fact that his inhibitions were lowered thanks to the whiskey. This was precisely why he didn’t socialize with the other Marshal. No telling what sort of trouble he’d get into if he were properly inebriated. Twice in the short space of time since he’d arrived at the VFW had he dropped his defenses and had to cover up quickly, both through Art’s unintentional aid. 

The first slip-up had occurred on the steps outside of the VFW. He’d been a tad unsteady on his feet as he’d gotten out of his SUV, a detail that Art had obviously noticed when he’d asked Tim if he were drunk. (Raylan had been a bit more polite and had inquired if they’d “interrupted anything.”) Tim had felt his defenses rise and he’d bristled that he’d been off the clock since 5pm. It was perfectly true. He’d been acutely aware, as he’d cut through the two senior Marshals, of Raylan’s aftershave, of the lean silhouette the other man cut in his tan jacket, dark shirt and that damn Stetson. He’d noted, not for the first time, how well Raylan pulled off the cowboy look that would’ve made lesser men a laughing stock. No one laughed at Raylan Givens. 

“You try flirting?” he’d asked Raylan before his brain could catch up to his mouth. Tim realized then that he was on the verge of doing some flirting himself if he wasn’t careful. 

Raylan never missed a beat (another trait that Tim found attractive in him), which made their newfound banter come so easily. Tim enjoyed Raylan’s quick wit. The cowboy was almost as sharp as him. 

“He was immune to my charms,” Raylan had answered smoothly. 

Tim had been about to throw all caution to the wind and launch into some heavy-duty flirting, but Art had (thankfully or not, Tim still wasn’t sure) interjected with his own comment. 

“He said, ‘Heroes only,’” the boss had added. 

Tim had finally dug out his old army I.D. from his wallet. He’d gone right on ahead with the reply he’d originally intended for Raylan, but now it appeared to be addressed to Art. 

“Oh, okay,” he’d said offhandedly. “You show him your ass wound?” 

Beside him on the steps, Tim could feel Raylan’s amusement. Art, who had been standing a little behind them, was obviously more perplexed. 

“Nah,” the boss had replied. “I didn’t think it was that kind of an evening.” 

Tim hadn’t missed the look that Art had given Raylan just then. It was a look that said, _Our sniper’s got a weird sense of humor, don’t he?_ Tim couldn’t see Raylan’s reply but it didn’t matter because he was standing in front of the sentry on duty, giving the man a lopsided grin. 

“Evening, soldier,” Tim had greeted him. “I didn’t bring my cape but I’m guessing this will suffice.” He’d held up his ID for the sentry to examine. 

“Rangers,” the sentry had replied approvingly. “Hooah. Where’d you serve?” 

Tim had known it was his duty to make polite conversation while Raylan and Art went inside. He’d just rolled with it because he was in that kind of mood. 

“Afghanistan.” 

“No shit. We got a boy waiting to ship.” 

“Oh, great,” Tim had replied. “Maybe he can buy me a drink.”

* * * * *

Tim’s second slip-up had happened during the conversation with Arlo and he thought that his reaction then had been far more damning. It was the first time he’d met Arlo Givens and he’d known that it wouldn’t be his last. He’d felt an odd sort of pride that he’d instantly quashed when Raylan had defended him to his old man. Arlo had taken one look at Tim and had come to the hasty judgment that Tim was soft, good for nothing except possibly being a mess hall cook in the army.

“Sniper in the Rangers,” Raylan had fired back, the unmistakable note of anger in his voice. 

Arlo had reappraised him then as Tim had pulled out a seat. “So, he’s the shit,” the old man had said before shifting his attention to Art. 

With the introductions made, Tim had taken a backseat as Art and Raylan had run the show. He didn’t think they’d have much success in turning Arlo and judging by Raylan’s quietly escalating anger, the cowboy thought the idea was a lost cause as well. It was clear that the offer still had to be made, even if Arlo simply threw it back in their faces. 

Tim had spent more time observing Raylan than he had Arlo. He’d never seen Raylan lose his cool, but the other man had been dangerously close to it tonight. In fact, the terse looks that Raylan had kept exchanging with their boss told Tim that Art was probably the only thing holding Raylan back at that point. Tim could relate. He and his old man had had their issues as well. He’d gotten a hint of Raylan’s daddy issues when Arlo had been arrested and again when the old man had been hospitalized. But it was another thing entirely to see those issues so raw and displayed for public consumption. It was almost obscene. Tim understood instinctively that Arlo was everything that Raylan had tried to get away from in Kentucky, and to be dragged back to this place that he hated, to the very man that he abhorred was absolutely killing him. 

The conversation with Arlo had steadily deteriorated, although Tim had learned a great deal about what Raylan and Art had been up to during the day and the progress they’d made in their case against the Crowders. Raylan had had enough and when Arlo stated that the three of them were no longer welcome, the cowboy had made to leave. But Arlo had grabbed Raylan’s arm with surprising force, taunting his son. Raylan’s response had been cruel and cutting. Tim had watched as Arlo’s face had hardened at Raylan’s words and in a flash the old man had smacked Raylan across the cheek. 

Tim still couldn’t explain why he’d reacted the way he’d done at that point. He’d been on his feet in a heartbeat and just as quickly Art was holding him back with a placating, “Hey, hey.” What had he been planning to do? Attack an old man? Punch his lights out? He wasn’t sure. All he’d known was that a fierce protectiveness had overcome him, a need to defend Raylan as Raylan had defended him. Tim didn’t know what that meant. He and Raylan weren’t particularly close. In fact, his relationship with Raylan could be characterized as ‘professional’ at best, but he thought they could become friends. Good friends, even. Hell, he wouldn’t mind more than friendship but it was pretty clear that Raylan played for the other team and wouldn’t take kindly to those advances. 

Still, seeing Raylan interact with Arlo tonight had set something off in him. A kind of kinship, perhaps? He’d always thought the cowboy was sex on legs, but he’d also recognized that there was much more to Raylan than those good looks. Raylan was an enigma (no doubt a messed up one) that needed figuring out, but it felt like a doorway had been briefly opened this evening and Tim had been granted a temporary pass. Whatever it was, it made Raylan the target of his annoyance. When Raylan and Art had wrapped up their business with the State Police, Tim found himself falling into step beside the other Marshal. 

“You owe me a drink,” Tim stated as they walked back to their parked vehicles. 

Raylan didn’t break his stride but he glanced at Tim (still wearing the damn Stetson). “Do I now?” he asked. 

“You owe me more than one,” Tim continued, as if the answer were self-explanatory. 

Now Tim could tell that Raylan looked amused. He wondered if Raylan realized that they’d never gone drinking together before. 

“Fair enough,” Raylan agreed. “Seeing as we interrupted your bender. I could use a drink myself. Where to?” 

They’d both reached their vehicles, which were parked side-by-side in a little clearing near the ditch where the bodies were found. Tim had a short list of bars that he liked, some with good live bands, but he wasn’t in the mood to patronize any of them tonight. He wasn’t after that sort of ambiance. But the suggestion he came up with instead surprised him as well. 

“How ‘bout we just go back to that luxury motel of yours? Pick up a bottle along the way?” 

Raylan gave him a long look, his hand poised on the handle of the driver’s side of his town car. Tim couldn’t read the other man’s expression but he got the feeling that he’d pushed a bit too hard, been a bit too forward (not that he was intentionally hitting on Raylan, he reminded himself). 

“We don’t need to pick up a bottle,” Raylan finally said, opening the car door and getting inside. 

Tim’s grin was much too self-satisfied when he started the engine to his SUV and followed Raylan’s car out of the clearing.

* * * * *

Tim didn’t know precisely at which motel Raylan was staying. The other Marshal had been in Kentucky for less than two weeks. Since it was evident that Raylan thought his transfer was temporary, he hadn’t bothered to look at real estate prices or more permanent living arrangements. Tim couldn’t blame him. He suspected that Raylan still had a place in Miami just waiting for him.

Raylan’s room was at the end of the motel’s line of single cabins and was easily accessible from the street. There was enough space for both of them to park practically in front of his door. 

“Not gonna invite me in?” Tim inquired when Raylan motioned to the table and two large chairs on the front porch. 

“Ain’t much to see,” Raylan replied, unlocking the front door. “It’s a cool night,” the cowboy went on. “Be nice to sit outside.” 

Tim nodded, taking the seat at the far end of the table. When Raylan came out again, he had an unopened bottle of Jim Beam black label and two tumblers. He sat down opposite Tim, poured their drinks and then took off the Stetson, placing it on the table beside the bottle of bourbon before running a hand through his hair. 

“Some night,” Raylan said, taking a drink and staring straight ahead. 

Their chairs were angled sideways in such a way that they were largely facing the street. They wouldn’t actually have to look at each other if they didn’t want to. 

_Convenient_ , Tim thought. _To be able to avoid eye contact like that_. 

“More like some day,” Tim corrected, taking a drink himself. He welcomed the burn of the bourbon. 

Raylan glanced at him. “What’d we interrupt when we called?” When Tim didn’t respond, Raylan continued, “You looked like you were halfway to a bender. I’m guessing we’re picking up where you left off.” 

“You got some catchin’ up to do then,” Tim informed him. At Raylan’s piercing look, Tim caved in to the pressure to explain. “Some old army buddies are in town. We were just kicking back, having some drinks.” _Maybe I would’ve been able to get laid_ , he mentally added listlessly. It felt like a long time since he’d seen any action that didn’t have to do with his own hand. 

Meanwhile Raylan had rolled into town and promptly hooked up with the key witness to the Crowder shooting, arguably the prettiest gal in Harlan County, who just happened to be the wife of the deceased son of the crime boss of Harlan County. The cowboy didn’t seem like the type who would have difficulty in that department, but it sure looked like women were also an Achilles heel if Tim were to go by Raylan’s poor exercise in judgment that had compromised their case against Boyd Crowder. 

“Couldn’t go back to that little party?” Raylan asked. “Now that we’re done for the night?” 

Tim laughed. “Then _I’d_ be the one doin’ the catchin’ up,” he replied. _And your company is far more interesting, even if I don’t get laid._

“You army types. Party animals, the lot of you,” Raylan commented, but Tim could tell that it was meant in jest. 

“Not as boring as we seem,” Tim confirmed, flashing Raylan a rare grin. _Don’t flirt_ , he reminded himself, but his grin only grew wider when Raylan returned it with one of his own. “What about you?” he continued. “Was Harlan a hard-partying town growing up?” 

Raylan shook his head. “That was never really my scene,” he answered. 

“Not even in high school?” 

“Arlo would’ve tanned my hide.” 

“Your old man seems like a real hard ass.” 

“We got ‘im on one of his good nights.” 

A silence fell between them and Tim contemplated asking another question about Arlo (he was just so damn _curious_ ), even though a little voice told him it wasn’t the smart thing to do. He ignored that voice and was about to speak, but Raylan beat him to it. 

“Arlo’s also a real conversation killer,” the cowboy said, fixing Tim with a warning look as though he’d been able to read Tim’s mind. 

Tim took the hint. 

“So what wouldn’t be a conversation killer?” 

This was another first for them, Tim realized. Attempting an honest-to-God conversation that wasn’t based on work. Hell, would there be anything for them to talk about? Raylan wasn’t exactly the loquacious type. The polar opposite of, say, someone like Boyd Crowder. And for all of Tim’s smart-ass remarks, he wasn’t particularly adept at conversation himself. 

As it turned out, there were plenty of things for them to talk about once they got started. Tim had no doubt the bourbon was also helping. There were only certain types of people that he could really talk to and Raylan turned out to be one of those people. The cowboy had an even darker, more cynical sense of humor than his own. They stayed on safe topics – sports, music, movies, weapons and tactics. Their tastes were more similar than he expected (not that he’d given those things a great deal of thought) and they studiously stayed away from anything that had to do with family. Not once did Tim bring up Afghanistan, nor did Raylan ask. It was funny though, that for all the talking they did, Tim felt like he’d barely scratched the surface of the other man and Raylan would probably say the same about him. But the evening had proved something important to Tim, namely that they got along well outside of work. He’d always suspected as much. 

By the time they were two thirds of the way through the second bottle of Jim Beam, Tim knew he’d have to call it quits or end up sleeping on Raylan’s floor. 

“I’m done,” Tim declared, polishing off the last of the amber liquid in his glass. 

“Sure you can drive?” Raylan asked. 

“That’s why I’m stopping now, otherwise your floor is gonna be my new best friend.” 

“Who said anything about the floor?” Raylan scoffed. “We’re at a motel. I can have management bring in a cot. Or,” Raylan paused. “The bed’s big enough for two.” 

If Tim had been drinking at that moment, he might’ve choked. No way was that a come on but that didn’t make the idea hold any less appeal for him. In fact, sharing a bed with Raylan in his half-drunken state was probably the worst of ideas, which is probably why it _did_ hold so much appeal to him. 

_Stop thinking with your dick_ , Tim chastised himself. Outwardly, he was shaking his head. “I’m a light sleeper,” he told Raylan. “And your snoring would keep me up.” 

“How would you know that I snore?” Raylan asked, bemused. “Haven’t fallen asleep on a stakeout yet.” Raylan said the last comment as if it were only a matter of time. 

“There’s gotta be something about you that ruins that perfect cowboy image,” Tim retorted. 

Raylan still looked amused, while Tim’s inner voice was now yelling at him to ‘Stop flirting!’ Tim listened for once as he said, “I just need to take a leak and then I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“You _sure_ you can drive?” Raylan repeated. 

Tim laughed as he got to his feet, swaying a tad more than he’d wanted to. “I ain’t no greenhorn, Raylan,” he teased. “Just let me use your bathroom.” 

Raylan eyed him for a moment from his sitting position. Tim almost wished that Raylan were wearing the Stetson. Then he’d have to tip the brim back a bit to give Tim that same look. Tim might’ve given Raylan grief for the whole cowboy thing but there was no denying that Raylan wore it well, and secretly, Tim thought the Stetson was hot. 

Raylan motioned towards the door to his motel room. “Straight on through,” he said. “Bathroom’s in the back to the right.” 

“Right,” Tim repeated, walking as steadily as possible past the other man and into the motel room. He thought he did well enough to pass a sobriety test.

* * * * *

When Tim got out of the bathroom, Raylan had moved inside as well. He’d discarded the tan jacket that he’d been wearing all day and was in the process of undoing the top button of his dark shirt.

 _Oh fuck this_ , Tim thought, swallowing thickly. He knew that Raylan wasn’t doing this on purpose. He was undoubtedly getting ready for bed now that Tim was about to leave but _god dammit_ , did he have to be such a fucking temptation? 

Raylan was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, his hip cocked at that particular angle which always emphasized his lean form. Tim would have to pass the other man on his way out. He walked slowly towards Raylan, his own undershirt and red flannel shirt suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm. He stopped in front of the other man and shamelessly appraised him, almost mirroring Raylan’s stance. 

Tim couldn’t be imagining it. There was a definite tension in the air, a kind of expectant electricity. His throat had gone dry but somehow he managed to speak. 

“I really wanna do something,” he said slowly. “But you have to promise not to shoot me.” 

Raylan didn’t say anything in reply, just watched Tim thoughtfully for a moment before he reached down and unbuckled the holster that he was still wearing. He let the holster and his piece fall on the bed behind him. 

_God damn_ , Tim thought. That was a challenge if he ever saw one. 

Tim didn’t back down from challenges. 

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and reached out. He could hardly believe that Raylan wasn’t stopping him as he undid the top button of Raylan’s dark jeans. He was equally impressed that his hand wasn’t shaking as he unzipped Raylan’s fly. All the while he didn’t break eye contact with the other man, but that didn’t mean he could read Raylan’s expression either. There was still time to turn back. Technically, he hadn’t done anything yet. He searched Raylan’s features for some kind of clue, some kind of sign to explain what the hell was goin’ on, but Raylan’s expression remained carefully neutral. The fact that he hadn’t stopped Tim yet was a tacit permission in itself. 

Tim took a deep breath, finally breaking eye contact. A moment later he was on his knees. He hadn’t done this in a while and being with Raylan now was a far cry from the anonymous back alley blowjobs that he’d occasionally sought out as well as given in the city. 

It may have been a while, but Tim also knew that he had some skills. If this was the only chance he would get, then he was gonna give Raylan the best damn blowjob of his life. He started by spitting into his own hand and then slowly massaging the still flaccid cock in front of him. It didn’t take long for Raylan’s dick to show its interest, and keeping his right hand still at the base, Tim began suckling the tip. Raylan’s cock was still hardening in his grasp, giving him some time to explore its length and texture. He didn’t want to dally too much, however, and when Raylan was fully hard, he slowly began taking more of the cock in his mouth. He flattened his tongue against the flesh, opening wide to accommodate Raylan’s girth. He briefly imagined what it would be like to the feel the stretch and burn of Raylan’s cock inside him, but his attention was drawn to the task at hand when Raylan let out a little moan as his cock hit the back of Tim’s throat. 

Tim knew he could take the other man even deeper, but he suddenly felt greedy, wanting to hear more from Raylan, wanting to unravel the cowboy’s cool facade. He began setting a quick pace, keeping one hand on the base as he worked the length in and out of his mouth. His other hand made its way to the back of Raylan’s thigh, acting as a support for both of them. In the short time that they’d worked together, Tim had noticed how perfectly in tune they were in the field, how accurate their timing was. Apparently, that didn’t end in the workplace since Raylan was easily able to adjust to Tim’s rhythm. His thrusts were shallow but just right, pushing Tim but never gagging him. When one of Raylan’s hands came to rest at the back of Tim’s head, a gentle pressure meant to encourage not guide, Tim was so hard himself he thought he would come in his pants. He couldn’t believe how much he was getting out of this. It was different when the blowjob actually mattered. 

“Tim.” 

Raylan said his name quietly, but Tim had never heard Raylan say his name that way before. The other man’s voice was strained and unmistakably laced with desire. The sound went straight to Tim’s cock and he shifted minutely in response. The hand at the back of his head tightened its grip and Tim understood that it was a warning. Raylan was close. Real close. Tim wasn’t one to swallow when he gave head, but tonight was different. He _wanted_ to know what Raylan tasted like. Fingers were digging into his skull as though Raylan meant to pull him away, but Tim only bore down and sucked even harder. The rush of fluid that filled his mouth didn’t take him by surprise and Tim didn’t hesitate, drinking Raylan down until the cock in his mouth softened and slipped between his lips. He was breathing heavily when he was done, both from the effort and from the fact that his own cock was straining against his jeans. 

Tim shut his eyes for a moment to help regulate his breathing and to push aside his own discomfort. When he opened them again, he was aware that the hand behind his head had released him. Tim methodically tucked Raylan back in, zipped up his jeans and then got to his feet. He stood in front of the other man as the same sort of calm that he experienced when he was lining up a target in his scope settled over him. 

Raylan also hadn’t reacted since he’d climaxed and the same neutral expression that Tim had seen before he’d gotten down on his knees was once more on Raylan’s face. Raylan’s eyes dropped to Tim’s bulging crotch as he said, “Should I return the favor?” 

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” Tim replied. 

“That don’t really answer the question,” Raylan pointed out. 

Tim shook his head even though all his instincts were screaming, _Yes! Yes!_

“No,” he said firmly. 

Raylan nodded once. “All right then,” he agreed. 

Tim was about to back away but was suddenly pulled forward by that same hand, this time at the back of his neck. There was no time to react to the kiss before Raylan’s lips were bruising his own. Then Raylan’s tongue was in his mouth, exploring, teasing, tasting himself. There was another hand on his crotch, providing the friction that his cock had ached for. Fingers were unzipping his jeans and then the restricting cloth was gone as those same fingers closed around his leaking cock. Tim automatically thrust into the tight tunnel that Raylan’s hand provided, even as he concentrated his efforts on that all-encompassing kiss. _God dammit Raylan could kiss._

Tim was gripping Raylan by the shoulders, fingers digging so deeply he was probably going to leave bruises but he didn’t care. Raylan was jerking him off hard and fast. He’d been hard for so long that there was no way he was going to last. In other circumstances he would’ve been embarrassed for coming so quickly, but the relief that flooded him at his release overrode everything else. He felt his body go boneless as Raylan continued to milk him dry. He leaned heavily into the other man, the hand that had been at his nape, now trailing downward until it rested as a warm, solid presence on his back. He rested his forehead against Raylan’s chest as his breathing returned to normal. 

“Fuck Raylan,” he finally muttered in annoyance. 

Raylan's breath was warm as he laughed softly near his ear, teeth grazing the tip of his earlobe. 

“We can do that next time,” the cowboy said. 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
